


Gotham by Twilight

by NadoHunter



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, Justice League - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Clark and Bruce were already married and together, Established Relationship, M/M, Temporary Character Death, Vampire AU where vampires haven't existed before in pop culture or in this universe in general, more tags may be added in future
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-01-21 12:57:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21299828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadoHunter/pseuds/NadoHunter
Summary: Bruce Wayne has been dead for nearly a year, and the people he left behind have yet to move on beyond it. The bat-familly is in shambles, Clark has yet to put his life back together after loosing his husband, and those Bruce had given hope for a better future are struggling to believe in anything getting better.Well... that is until Bruce seemingly crawls out of his own grave, back as something else not entirely human.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 27
Kudos: 142





	1. 1

Gotham had always been a breeding ground for the strange, the gross, and the mysterious. Gotham itself was a mystery. The oldest city in the country had a long history of death, deception and decay.

Despite that, there was a saying that once Gotham chose you, you’d never want to leave. It was the type of city that still stood standing regardless of the amount of murderous clowns or the many many threats that had been made to her skyscrapers to tear them down in one final blaze of glory.

While the stones may be blackened with ash and the insurance through the roof, Gotham still thrived, and they still loved their Batman.

And their departed so called ‘prince’ of Gotham.

For a time, it wasn’t unusual for someone to want to visit his final resting place. Many stones were placed both out of love and admiration. These days, at most only a few stones were added with the visits of those closest who knew him personally.

Yet that didn’t stop the occasional person from wandering by, running their hands along the dark fence and gesturing to a friend where Bruce Wayne rested amongst the many other graves in the cemetery.

Coming up on one year later after the billionaire breathed his last breath, the moon was the only light that dusted two lone figures as they walked along the fence parallel to Gotham’s graveyards. The lone nearby streetlamp had been completely dead for a week with no one having bothered to fix it recently. One of the women scrambled in her purse for her phone.

“Hang on I’ll find it.”

“Hurry up _ please _ ? I don’t really like being in the dark in _ Gotham _ Marci.” The other woman hissed back in a hushed voice, pulling her scarf anxiously as they paused their forward trajectory.

“It’s not _ my _ fault you forgot to charge your phone before going out at night… _ In Gotham _.” She snipped back mockingly before finally uttering “a-ha!” In triumph.

She let her purse drop to her side, starting to remove her knit woolen gloves so she could handle it.

Suddenly a loud horrible sound ripped through the air that wasn’t unlike nails scraping against a chalkboard. She nearly dropped her phone as they both cringed pressing their hands to their ears, hoping to alleviate the pain from the sudden noise.

Then… once again as quickly as it had been interrupted… dead silence. As dead and silent as Gotham could be that was. The only sound still continuing was the breeze rippling through tree branches that had lost their leaves for the season and constant echo of cars and sirens.

“What the _ fuck _ was that?!”

Marci instinctively put an arm around the other’s shoulder as her eyes scanned the pitch black street and field of barely illuminated graves and trees nearby.

“I… I don’t know Mel…” She replied as her girlfriend finally managed to fumble with her phone and turn the flashlight on. Whipping it around quickly only to find themselves still alone.

They were about to move forward again until the silence was once again broken by a sound that was quiet, but so disturbing it was impossible to ignore. A gargled gasp for air that rattled as it tried to pull in the ice cold air around it. 

It was unmistakable this time, the sound had come from the far west side of the graveyard.

Marci bit her lip, curiosity getting the better of her as she slowly turned her light back towards the graveyard, trying to calm her own unsteady breathing as Mel clinged onto her for dear life.

Then, as if a veil had been lifted, two pinpricks of ice blue light popped right out of the shadows. Making the two women jump.

Marci thought about running at that moment. She could hear Mel whispering at her for them to just _ get out of here _ , just _ run _.

Yet somewhere deep in her subconscious she knew those pricks of light would haunt her if she never made _ absolutely _ sure what they were. So ignoring Mel protesting she immediately shown the light in the direction of the blue prick of light only to jump back as Mel squeaked and tried to pull Marci back in terror.

There… surrounded by graves as still and as pale as a marble statue, stood a man.

But not just any man…

Before they could fully process the face with the slightly sunken in eyes and the skin that stretched just a bit too thin across bone, it was suddenly far too close within an instant. The fence made of solid metal buckled and creaked with the sudden weight of a human thrashing against it at alarming speeds.

Marci screamed, only barely having enough of an instinct to hold up her arm to shield her face as a clawed hand came down on her as the man’s mouth opened with an inhuman screech escaping his vocal chords, showcasing razor sharp fangs like a snake within its depths. His claws ripped through the cloth of her thick winter coat and broke her skin.

Marci wailed wildly as she grabbed Mel’s arm and tugged her into a panicked sloppy run. Both sobbing as Marci’s phone fell to the ground with a sickening crack causing the light to flicker off.

They both ran as fast as they could, hoping desperately that the iron fence would hold on just a little bit longer, and the wretched slamming and screeching they heard not far behind them wasn’t the sound of metal buckling open at the will of a monster.

\----

Clark fiddled with his keys, clutching gingerly onto a bouquet of flowers as he pushed the door to his apartment open. He did nothing but stare at the floor as he went through his routine of pushing off his shoes. Not bothering to turn the light on in the hall he closed the door behind him.

He didn’t lift his gaze until he reached the living room and turned on a single lamp filling the room with a soft warm glow that was only obstructed by the numerous boxes piled high and random papers and possessions left around the couch and coffee table.

He finally smiled softly.

“Hey B, sorry I’m back late tonight.” He said sweetly, holding the bouquet briefly in two hands as he ran a finger delicately over his ring finger, feeling the metal band still wrapped around it.

He walked over softly to the small glass table with another lamp and a single framed picture, and softly set the bouquet down next to it. His eyes gazed over the photo, running his thumb affectionately along the wood of the frame.

“Happy anniversary Bruce.” He uttered to the photo of him with Bruce in his arms. A rare one of the other man smiling calmly despite his crossed arms and closed off demeanor as Clark kissed his cheek.

Sleep hadn’t been realistic for him the past year. Especially not tonight.

Memories of his time with Bruce both good and bad, sweet and sour, twisted around in his mind – prodding at his chest like a thousand tiny needles and keeping him wide awake as he tossed and turned in his bed that was just a bit too wide for him.

Fights they had, words he wished he never said that he convinced himself would somehow have prevented Bruce’s death if he had just not said them.

For the fifth time that night his arm flopped over onto the empty side of the bed that was cold from being exposed to the air without a body to warm it.

He would cry if it didn’t already feel like he had sobbed all the tears left in him. Instead he stared forward at that empty expanse on the bed with a blank expression.

_ If only… if only… if only… _

The hours ticked by and he didn’t sleep a wink. He rolled over, wondering if he could use his lack of sleep to finally declutter his house. Maybe he could finally go through all these boxes, find a place for everything–get rid of the things he didn’t need. He was sure he didn’t need the collars Bruce had kept for Ace, nor did he really need to hold on to any of the other man’s clothes. He was sure if he donated them, the expensive clothing would make someone really excited and happy, and normally it would have been in his nature to do so.

But he didn’t move, he couldn’t bring himself to.

The thought of getting rid of anything of Bruce’s, even if they weren’t valuable to Bruce himself, felt like letting him die all over again.

So here he was, doing nothing but staring up at the ceiling at 4:30 AM. He felt like a hypocrite for the many years he had bothered Bruce to go to sleep. 

Once again retrospection is a bitch.

Then… strangely, there was a knock at his door. He furrowed his brows as he stood up out of bed cautiously. He didn’t hear so much as a breath or even a heartbeat outside his apartment, but he knew for _ certain _ he had heard a knock.

He was at the door in the blink of an eye, pressing his ear to it. Maybe someone had just dropped something off and he had been too encased in his own mind to notice. Though what business would _ anyone _ have with Clark Kent at this time of night?

Slowly, he opened the door and peered out into the inky darkness.

What he saw… well he was sure he would never be closer to having a heart attack than he was in that moment.

An all too familiar face stared back and called out to him.

“_ Clark… _”

He slammed the door with a loud bang, only barely restraining his strength to not bring the whole damn building down, pressing his back to the door as if afraid it would blow back open. 

His hands shook.

No… it couldn’t be… Bruce is _ dead _ , he’s _ dead _– he reminded himself.

He hadn’t really just stared back into Bruce’s cold but captivating blue eyes; he had to be dreaming, or hallucinating from going months and months without any real sleep. Even superman had to get high from a lack of any sleep whatsoever, right?

“…ow…” came a quiet, weary, voice from the other side of the door.

Clark’s heart pounded in his chest, threating to burst out with a life of its own. That was Bruce’s voice, that was _ definitely _ Bruce’s voice. It couldn’t _ not _ be.

With a trembling hand he slowly opened the door and peeked out, some part of him, hoping that he would be gone and he would stare out into nothingness.

But he didn’t.

Bruce looked at him with tired sunken in eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Clark had apparently hit him in the face with the door. Clark stopped being able to breathe as he looked at him.

It was Bruce, there was no doubt about that even if that was physically impossible. Even after a week the man’s body would have already decayed significantly and yet here he was, looking much thinner than Clark ever remembered him being, his cheekbones that had already been one of his more prominent features now stuck out more now than they ever had.

“Clark?” He finally said again, voice sounding strained and horse like he was severely dehydrated.

His eyes seemed slightly bleary and unfocused, as if just waking up after a deep sleep and not fully _ there _ on a cognizant level. 

“No…” Clark stepped back away from his door.

He was going insane, that was what Clark was starting to conclude. Bruce wasn’t _ really _ here, he had just completely lost it. It was the only explanation.

“Did… did we fight?” Bruce asked wearily in confusion.

He took a slow step forward towards Clark, reaching his hand out towards him.

That’s when Clark finally took a moment out of his spiral into convincing himself he was insane to notice the dirt caked under Bruce’s fingernails. In fact, he was covered in dirt and mud from head to toe, his hair as well was messy with it. The suit he was buried in torn and askew, and yet Bruce seemed too out of it to take note of anything.

He looked like…

“_ like he dug himself out of a grave?” _

Clark shook his head. No, he _ couldn’t _ have, that wasn’t possible, it couldn’t be…

And yet…

Here he was. Could an insane mind really create a visual and auditory hallucination like _ this? _This detailed? He was sure if he imagined Bruce coming back to him he would be as he remembered him in one of his warmer memories of them together, vibrant, healthy for the most part, with a calm private smile that was so special and sweet to him.

Yet there was one thing missing.

One very important thing.

A sound he would know anywhere, even after a year had passed.

A heartbeat, _ Bruce’s _ heartbeat.

He flinched back away from the hand reaching out towards him.

“Clark?” Bruce called to him again in confusion.

Having his name called by the man he loved more than anything who was _ dead _ was feeling more and more like some wicked presence trying to taunt him.

“No… No… You’re… you’re not here…”

Bruce looked about as tiredly perplexed as Clark felt.

“Wh…”

“You’re dead.” He whispered now more trying to convince himself.

Bruce blinked a few times, that strange sort of haze starting to leave his eyes.

“I’m too tired for this Clark, I’m not _ dead _ , I’m right…” That was when Bruce placed his hand over his own chest for emphasis only to freeze, eyes growing wide as he finally became more aware of his body and what was _ missing _. The slight haze that had riddled his mind since he had knocked on Clark’s door began to slip away exposing him to the gruesome stabbing pain of reality.

He watched as Bruce looked down at his hand, scanning over his nails, his clothing, his body… eyes darting back and forth as he tried to fit together pieces that didn’t match.

“What… what is?” He stammered only to suddenly wince and bring a hand to his mouth.

“Bruce?” Clark asked shakily, still leaning away from the man he still wasn’t entirely convinced was really there.

Bruce moved his hand away from his mouth, a small bead of blood dripped down from his lip as he parted his mouth. He stared at the small drop of blood on his fingertip, eyes dilating slightly as he stared at it.

Instinctively, momentarily setting aside his disbelief. Clark reached out and wiped the drop away, leaning in to look at the cut in concern.

He nearly jumped right back at what he saw in Bruce’s slightly parted mouth. The only thing that kept him there was Bruce’s eyes freezing him in place as they searched Clark’s face, desperate for answers, lost in confusion.

Fangs. His lover, back from the dead had fangs where his canines should be, looking to be just under a quarter of an inch long.

Now that he was closer to Bruce he noticed more and more odd things about him. While at first horrified glance he seemed so close to how Clark last remembered him (just slightly thinner and disheveled) – upon reflection the oddity of whatever drew Bruce out of his grave became more apparent. His skin had always been pale, he wasn’t a child of the sun after all, yet now it had a blueish grey undertone that just barely kept it from being a ghostly white and devoid of color all together. His _ eyes _ , his eyes as well were different. To Clark his icy blue gaze had always been radiant and seemingly pierced through the darkest of shadows with calculated precision, yet now it was more than obvious they were _ glowing. _ It was that very light that tore at the surrounding shadows that had startled Clark so much in the first place the moment he had peered out his door into the pitch black hallway.

“Clark… why did you say I was dead?” Bruce slowly asked in a hushed voice. Clark could visibly see him forcing down any sort of emotional reaction, immediately trying to leap into finding some sort of logic and control.

Clark began to tremble as he clasped his hands around Bruce’s, bringing the man’s knuckles to his lips.

He was cold, so cold. This _ couldn’t _ be a dream, could it? If it was, if he woke up, he knew he wouldn’t want to face another day. Not after seeing him again, and feeling so _ real _ even if it was odd.

“Because…” Clark tried to begin taking in a forced shaky breath as he forced himself to try not to sob, tears already spilling out of his eyes as he clenched them shut. “You _ died _ , you’ve been _ dead _ for a _ year _.”

“I don’t… I don’t remember dying.” Bruce said, stepping forward to close the gap between them. His mind was filled with so many questions, all of which he momentarily shelved as his husband trembled and clutched onto his hands as if at any moment Bruce would turn into nothing but smoke and be carried away on the breeze to a place he couldn’t yet follow.

Clark lost his ability to hold himself back, and Bruce found himself pulled into Clark’s shaking arms and was immediately assaulted by the man peppering sloppy, desperate, sorrow-filled kisses all over his face and neck.

Bruce’s chest ached, and he slowly put his arms around Clark’s shoulders, completing the embrace. He began slightly shaking himself, confused, lost, not yet ready to comprehend how he had died, why he was here now… and what had happened to his husband in his absence.

“I… you… I’m sorry I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I should have been, I should have…. I should have come I should have…” Clark began stammering incoherently, Bruce was frozen still as he was sobbed into.

Normally Clark’s bear hugs left him slightly gasping for air and having to tell him to make sure he didn’t crush his ribs. Now, it was glaringly obvious the pressure from Clark’s hug didn’t have him feeling strained or unable to breathe… in fact; He realized he wasn’t breathing at all. He inhaled deeply, experimentally, feeling his ribs expand normally. It seemed like he _ could _, if he thought about it, but he didn’t seem to have any need to.

“Clark I… I don’t know what happened but I doubt it’s your fault.” He tried to say. Despite feeling Clark’s warmth, feeling him solidly _ there _… he himself was beginning to doubt he was alive too. That pounding that usually went mostly unnoticed in his chest now still strikingly off putting.

“I’m here now.” Bruce said out loud, more trying to convince himself. “That’s what matters.” He pressed a long firm kiss to Clark’s temple.

“_ I think…” _Bruce thought to himself.

“This is…” Clark began, losing his words completely halfway through speaking. 

They both locked onto each other’s gaze, both questioning the reality of the moment. Then, suddenly, both jumped in surprise. Clark actually floated a couple of inches off the ground, startled by his phone ringing in the other room. 

He looked at Bruce, bags under his eyes looking that much darker when coupled with the stress that the moment he turned his back, Bruce would disappear, leaving him completely alone all over again. Bruce held onto Clark’s hand, holding tight as they walked together into the bedroom for Clark to retrieve his phone.

As Bruce gazed around the dark room, there was no more arguing that some time had passed. More concerningly were the many boxes along the walls piled high to the ceiling. He noticed many of his own items that hadn’t gone to any of his other family organized in high stacks despite Bruce owning way too much to ever fit comfortably in an apartment. He furrowed his brows as he noticed the closet stuffed full of his clothing while Clark’s clothing lay both on the floor and across the furniture.

Clark looked at the name on the phone, eyes growing wide and immediately answering it.

“Dick? I’m actually glad you…”

Dick’s voice roared through the phone, interrupting Clark, the boy seemed so full of rage about something that Clark had to pull his cell away from his ear.

“You are not going to believe this. I swear to fucking… I went… I went tonight to visit him tonight…”

Clark’s eyes immediately shot to Bruce as Dick spoke, and squeezed Bruce’s hand. Bruce leaned up in concern, wanting to call out to his son, let him know he was there. 

He could hear the range of anger to holding back distraught tired tears in Dick’s voice as he talked over the phone, Bruce stared at the phone in terror… he had never heard Dick sound quite like that, at least not since he was very young and just lost his own parents.

“And… I don’t know, someone did something, because I got there… the gravestone was broken… and… and… the body is gone, or what would have been left of it…I thought you should know.” Dick babbled on, they could both hear Barbra’s voice in the background quietly trying to soothe him, upset tinging her own voice.

“Dick…” Clark tried to interject again.

“I swear… code or not, even if he wouldn’t have wanted it, when I find who did this I’m going to..!”

“DICK! Just… Just listen to me for a sec.” Clark raised his voice back before immediately falling into a softer voice. “I… I don’t know if you’d believe me, I don’t believe it myself… but what would you say if I said I was looking at him right now?” He uttered quietly, eyes still locked on Bruce’s face and grip tight around his hand.

“..._ What?” _

That was the moment when Bruce took the phone, not able to stand being quiet anymore. “Dick. It’s me. I’m here.” He said quickly.

The dead silence on the other end was haunting.

He was even more startled by the word that came out of Dick’s mouth that sounded disturbingly not unlike the way Bruce himself spoke as Batman. “_ Where?” _

Bruce practically cradled the phone against his cheek, closing his eyes, trying to not fly into a panic that had been wanting to take him over ever since he had the door slammed in his face. “I wound up at Clark’s apartment. I’m not sure how I got here.”

“Don’t move.” was the response he got before the line went dead.

Clark turned on the light in the bedroom, momentarily looking around guiltily as if re-remembering what a mess the place was. Bruce handed Clark his phone back who pocketed in his pajama pants.

It was then that they were able to get a good look at each other without the darkness to inhibit their vision. Bruce’s chest felt heavy as he looked at Clark, never in his life had he seen Clark look so tired and distraught. His cheeks seemed a little sunken in as well. Bruce shakily pulled Clark into his arms allowing Clark to embrace him and sigh mournfully into the embrace. Bruce noticed he could just barely feel the outline of Clark’s ribs as he hugged him and his heart broke in half. He supposed, even kryptonian biology couldn’t save Clark allowing his own body to eat him alive from a lack of eating or sleeping.

Bruce nearly bit his lip and jumped, remembering the fact he suddenly had strangely sharp canines he had just cut himself on. He pulled away from Clark slowly, trying to be purposeful in his movements and caring in his touch as to not cause Clark to go into some stress-induced panic. He stepped over the articles of clothing littering the floor, heading to the bathroom, acutely aware Clark was close behind him, watching every move of his.

Bruce looked into the mirror and was slightly horrified by what he saw, he glanced down at himself, awareness of himself fully solid now that he had seen himself. He did look like he had just crawled out of the ground. He parted his mouth lightly touching his fangs. 

“What the hell?” he muttered.

He glared at the teeth, what the hell was he supposed to do with fangs sticking out that far, if he tried to talk fast at all he’d rip his own bottom lip off…

Just as he was thinking that, almost as if a reflex had been activated, his fangs seemed to retract into the roof of his mouth, causing both Clark and Bruce to jump in surprise, Bruce falling backwards into Clark.

He leaned back forward quickly, noting they now just seemed to look like semi-normal canines that were slightly sharper than average.

“How did you do that?” Clark asked. “Why can you do that?”

“I don’t know…” Bruce trailed off, observing other things like his skin, his eyes… what.. _ was _he?

He couldn’t possibly be human. Not anymore.

“Do my ears look pointed to you?” Bruce asked, now not sure if the tips of his ears seemed to come to a slightly pointed edge rather than a smooth curve, or if he was starting to see things.

Clark leaned in, looking close and blinking a few times to process what he was seeing. “Now that you mention it, yeah… I almost didn’t notice it.” Clark observed.

Bruce thought for a moment, unconsciously rubbing at his own neck as he felt a slight itch in the back of his throat. “I didn’t… die from a fight with _ Man-Bat _ or something, did I?” He asked, trying to wrack his brain for any connection, any explanation.

Clark took in a deep, shaky breath. “No B, you hadn’t encountered him for months.” Clark closed his eyes briefly and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “You didn’t die as Batman.”

Despite everything else, so far this was what surprised Bruce the most. “I didn’t? I would have thought if anything it would have been…”

Just then a slightly angry sounding knock came at the door, and they both immediately knew who it was.

Bruce was at the door first, pulling it open hurriedly.

Immediately, he locked eyes with his eldest son, and looked into a gaze filled with pure unbridled rage.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some gross stuff around blood and a dog death. ( I mean this is a vampire fic, so probably good idea to be prepped around the idea of blood, so this is more for the bit about the dog) I don't get detailed with it, but just want any readers to be safe!!

While Dick’s gaze softened slightly when he saw Bruce was really there, that didn’t stop him from storming into the apartment, Barbara rushing in close behind as he shut the door.

She gasped as she looked him up and down, hands trembling as she covered her mouth with them. Dick’s chest heaved, gaping at him while still looking a little like he wanted to punch him.

“Dick I…”

Dick looked near tears as he pointed at Bruce accusingly. “If you… If you somehow faked your death, destroyed your own _grave_ where we _buried_ you… if you DID that to me… to _all _of us, for some sort of ulterior motive…”

“Dick I swear to you. I don’t even remember dying!” he shouted back, not letting him go down that route any further. “I don’t know what _happened_. My heart’s not beating, I’m not breathing I’m…”

“Your _heart_ isn’t beating?” Dick asked, rage now subsiding, his face was still a bit red from getting riled up, but his eyes turned from cold to concerned.

Barbara rushed forward immediately grabbing Bruce’s wrist and feeling for his pulse, staring at it in pure confusion before looking between Bruce and Dick.

“He’s right, there’s… no pulse, and He’s _really_ cold.” She uttered, reaching out to poke Bruce’s face, trying to confirm herself he was there despite having just grabbed his wrist. “Is it… Is it really you?” She questioned, voice wavering.

“It’s… It’s me… I don’t know how, or why, but it is.” Bruce said, despretly trying to reassure everyone in the room, including himself. 

“You just… clawed yourself out of your own grave and came _here_ first?” Barbara asked.

“I don’t remember climbing out of my ‘grave’, I don’t really remember anything up until Clark slammed the door in my face, and even then it’s all a little fuzzy.” Bruce said honestly.

“You slammed the door in his face?” Dick asked, finally acknowledging the fact that his stepfather was there.

“What would you do if someone who had been _dead_ for a _year_ showed up on your doorstep at this time of night?” Clark protested. “I _panicked,_ okay?”

“Well, what’s the last thing you remember _before_ dying, if you don’t remember it actually happening?” Barbara asked nervously, eyes flicking to Dick breifly who looked uncomfortable as she asked.

Bruce thought for a moment, his mind still felt a little foggy, but… “I was here, with _you_ Clark…” He recounted, looking up at Clark briefly. “We were having coffee… I was talking about…” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying desperately to remember. “I don’t remember. But I _know_ we were last here…”

He snapped his fingers in realization. “We were going to start packing up you apartment that evening!” He was breifly excited that he remembered what had been going on, only for his heart to sink as Clark looked off to the side at one of the many piles of boxes with a weary sad look in his eyes.

“Do you… remember anything else?” Dick asked.

Bruce shook his head. “No, I know I left the apartment for _some _reason, but I don’t remember why.” He confessed.

Dick looked away and Barbara put a hand on his shoulder. Barbara bit her lip, looking as if she was contemplating saying something but decided against it. He thought about asking how he died right then and there, but he decided everyone looked shell-shocked and traumatized enough, and had been devastated by his death way more than Bruce had ever thought they would be, that he decided he’d ask later. 

“Unfortunately… “ Bruce began. “Me… being alive, isn’t the weirdest thing…” he grumbled.

“How is _that_ not the weirdest thing?” Dick proclaimed exasperated.

Bruce opened his mouth, trying to activate the same reflex he had in the mirror, just in reverse. His fangs shot out, even surprising himself , and felt a little guilty as Dick jumped back and Barbra yelped in surprise.

Dick was the first to lean in and get closer, going right into detective mode.

“What the hell?”

Bruce closed his eyes and managed to re-sheath them to be in line with the rest of his teeth. 

“They look… like snake fangs.” Barbra mumbled.

“No, I don’t think they're curved and thin enough to be like a snake...” Dick observed. “You’re both going to hate me for this, but they look a lot more like _bat _fangs.”

Clark looked at Bruce. “That’s why you were asking if you had died from an encounter with man-bat, isn’t it?”

Bruce shuffled his feet. “It was a shot in the dark, but clearly not a good one.” He mumbled.

“We’ve regularly at least had someone pass by the graveyard for obvious “Al Ghul” related reasons. And never _saw_ anyone meddling or doing anything suspicious.” Barbra said. “Clearly this is something else…”

Bruce stared at the ground, running his tongue along the roof of his mouth, the dryness in his throat was starting to get irritating, and he felt a little hungry. Which as odd… considering he seemingly had no heartbeat to transfer any nutrients he could gain from food to his brain… but then again… he seemingly still had a functioning mind even without a heartbeat, and that made no sense either.

“Clark, could you get me some water?” Bruce asked suddenly.

Clark was standing in front of him with a full glass before he could take another blink. 

“You’re thirsty?” He asked as Bruce took the glass from him rather hurriedly.

“Very.” Bruce mumbled before tilting the glass back to down it, acutely aware of all the eyes on him looking like he would spontaneously combust at any second.

It was then he realized the water tasted incredibly sour, like old shoe mixed with cough medicine. He gagged, spitting the water back up into the glass. He began retching, despite not getting much of the water down, his stomach churned angrily, as if offended even a single drop had touched it.

He didn’t know what was there to come up but _something_ was coming up. 

He found himself in the bathroom with his mouth open to draining the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

“What? The where did he??” He heard Dick exclaim, only to follow Clark who ran into the bathroom after Bruce and immediately bent down beside him.

He brushed Bruce’s hair out of his face, and put a warm hand solidly on his back as Bruce’s nerves started feeling shaky, and accepted Clark carefully wiping away some sort of fluid from his mouth.

He leaned against Clark, feeling even more ill as he saw the inside of the bowl was stained a dark red.

“What… is this?” Bruce asked shakily, only to look up into Clark’s face and find he looked horrified, and immediately felt like crawling back into a grave didn’t sound so bad.

“Bruce, do you realize what you just did?” Clark asked way too calmly for what had just happened.

“…Clark, I’m aware I retched up a bunch of what looks like blood, you think I’m not aware of that?” Bruce rasped at him, as if he wasn’t stressed out enough.

“No.. No… I mean yeah, That’s really concerning and I’m freaking out a little about that too but…” Clark began, holding onto Bruce’s shoulders tightly.

“Bruce… you _sped_ in here. Like…” Barbra interjected.

“_Super-_sped in here.” Dick finished.

“Like _me_ fast sped in here…” Clark clarified.

Bruce stared at the three of them. Now that he thought about it, he had just thought about needing to get here and had done it. 

Clark suddenly wrinkled his nose. “Also also not to super freak you out, but _that_ doesn’t smell like human blood, and it’s definitely not yours.”

Bruce’s eyes shot to him even more alarmed. 

“It smells a little like _dog_ blood.” Clark continued sheepishly while helping Bruce to his feet. It didn’t really do any good because Bruce was feeling even more woozy and near fainting from the bombardment of disturbing information.

“Why… would their be _canine_ blood, in _my_ stomach, that _apparently_ came up when I tried to drink _water_?!” Bruce heaved, officially near shutting down from panic at this point.

Dick and Barbara looked at each other. 

“You want to tell him?” Barbara asked Dick, crossing her arms and turning away from the toilet that Clark had calmly just flushed.

Dick grimaced.

“Tell me _what?_” Bruce demanded. 

“This is so fucked up.” Dick leaned against the doorframe, putting his hand over his eyes in frustration. Barbra put a hand on his shoulder, but was just as shaken herself. 

“Before we got here, when we were checking out the scene around the gravestone to figure out what the hell happened, we found a dog, _dead_, right where it looked like the fence had been broken.”

Bruce felt sick, yet again, and this time he wanted to be sick. If they found a dead dog, and he apparently had canine blood _in_ his stomach, _he_ had killed it, sucked its blood like some sort of parasite, and its blood was still _in_ him.

His knees gave out, and he sunk to the floor. Clark followed him, still holding on to him. Bruce wondered why he would, there was only one conclusion to draw, why would anyone want to be around him once those dots were connected?! He didn’t want to be around himself.

“I don’t … I don’t remember…. I… I…” He stammered.

“Bruce. Hey… I think… I think we both know you wouldn’t ever do something like that consciously.” Dick said awkwardly, though still stayed where he was.

“If… If I did it once, what if I do it again? And what if it isn’t a dog next time?? Is this what I am? Did I come back as some sort of blood thirsty… _ghoul?_” He said, feeling like he wanted to be back in the grave, still dead, at least then he couldn’t hurt anyone.

Clark wrapped his arms around Bruce, trying to rub his back comfortingly. “Hey, Hey, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out, okay? You’re here, and… sure we don’t know why yet, or how this happened but we can figure it out.”

“Clark is right Bruce, maybe you were only doing it unconsciously because like… well you’ve been gone for a year, whatever this is, if you were _starving_ and your mind wasn’t fully back on, you were just acting on instinct. If… If that’s something you need to not end up like that, there’s human non-death related ways we can get it. We can _all_ be thankful it was a dog, not a person.” Barbara tried to reassure, bending down next to him.

“A Vampire Bat!” Dick said suddenly.

“What?” Clark looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Of _course.”_ Bruce agreed, quietly proud and happy to be reminded of a time when he and Dick solved mysteries and bounced ideas off each other all the time. “Vampire Bats are the only mammals that feed almost exclusively off blood. That connection doesn’t fully explain the super-speed and coming back from the dead though…”

Dick shrugged. “Maybe you got bitten by a radioactive vampire bat.”

Barbara rolled her eyes. “Dick! This is serious!”

“You think I don’t know that? Its as good a theory as any, and _excuse me_ for wanting to add just a _tiny_ bit of levity to a really messed up situation.” Dick huffed.

Clark rubbed his eyes. “Weirder things have happened… But I think I, and _all_ of us, should get some rest and tackle this in the morning.”

“Clark…!” Bruce began to protest.

“No, you should take a shower and get some new clothes on…” Clark began, his ulterior motive was to not to be seeing Bruce in the clothing he was _buried_ in, because somehow, in his mind, that was the most disturbing thing out of everything. “We can all re-group in the morning, and maybe… “He began , now looking at Dick and Barbra. “It will be better to break this news to the others tomorrow, when we’re all a little less addled and can think a little straighter.”

Dick groaned and rubbed his face. “Yeah… yeah, I need daylight and coffee to confirm I’m not having some sort of fever driven hallucination or dream too.”

Clark nodded in understanding.

“People are going to notice the grave being a mess tomorrow though.” Barbara pointed out. “It’ll likely be all over the news by noon.”

“Then get everyone gathered and prepped before 9:00 and we’ll be there by 9:30.” Bruce suggested.

Barbara looked off to the side. “Okay, but just so you know, it's likely not going to be _everyone_.”

“What do you mean?” Bruce asked, silently begging _‘please god, let no one else have died while I was gone.’_

“Well, Alfred moved back to England after you died for one, He’s been silent ages now.” Dick explained wearily. “Tim has been pretty MIA too, and Steph has been gone this month to clear her head. And Jason… well… you know how he is.”

Bruce gazed down at the floor guiltily. He didn’t know yet if it was his fault he had died, but he felt bad about it anyway - and maybe some darker part of him had always assumed his death wouldn’t make much of an impact, because he was laser focused on Batman, and there was more than one person that could be Batman. 

“Alright, we’ll just go with gathering who can be there, and try to call anyone who can’t be there.” Bruce decided. “And Clark…”

“Core league members should know too?” Clark suggested with a raised eyebrow, already knowing what Bruce was going to ask him.

Bruce nodded. “You’ll need to ask them to be at the bat-cave first thing tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Clark confirmed.

They moved out to stand by the exit of Clark’s apartment. The room now more awkward than ever. What a note to end on.

“Well… guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” Dick mumbled in Bruce’s direction, hands in his pockets.

“Yeah… see you tomorrow. Both of you.” Bruce replied. He thought about hugging his son, hugging Barbara, but he didn’t, thinking maybe it wouldn’t be well received.

Dick sighed after a moment. “Okay. Lets get out of here Bar.” He mumbled. “Bye Clark.”

Clark nodded in acknowledgement. Barbara followed Dick out, turning her head back. “Both of you… have a good rest.”

“You too.” Clark replied, hand now resting on Bruce’s shoulder.

When the door closed behind him, Bruce slumped over slightly. Clark pulled Bruce close to him. “Come on. Lets shower and try to calm down.” He looked at Bruce with tired guilty eyes. “Im… sorry if I’m being clingy its just…”

Bruce immediately put a hand over Clark’s. “No, Clark, It’s okay. I understand, _god_ do I understand.”

—-

When they were in the shower together, Bruce, who previously might have been teasing or aloof about it - allowed Clark to help wash his hair out and scrub the dirt and mud from his body. He watched rather grimly as the dark-stained water circled the drain as Clark held onto him from behind. 

“Are you still feeling thirsty?” Clark asked.

“Yes…” Bruce said honestly before trailing off and closing his eyes. “That… that poor dog…”

“Hey, Hey, Bruce…” Clark tried to hush him.

“I… I killed something, I killed something while being completely out of control…” Bruce growled, the warm water doing nothing to calm him down at that moment. “I’m back as some sort of monstrosity, I… I don’t know how I died, but I left behind you, I left behind everyone without… without saying and doing all the things I _should_ have… why is this happening?! What _am_ I??”

Because he was with Clark, and because he could no longer keep the floodgates that had been threatening to break due to the pure stress and oddity of the situation closed… he choked out a sob, and Clark only turned him around so he was flush against his chest, knowing Bruce would want to hide his face in something, even if that something was Clark’s chest. Even now he refused to let someone look at his face in a moment of what he perceived as ‘weakness’ if he could help it… no matter how many times he had been told crying and expressing himself didn’t equate to being weak.

“Bruce, Bruce it’s okay, I know you would never do that on purpose. You weren’t just not in your right mind, you weren’t in your mind at all.” He soothed.

“How.. How do you know?!” Bruce accused in between a few sobs, even if he _knew_ Clark was right, it didn’t stop him from wanting to be punished for it, even if he hadn’t even been aware while doing it.

“Because I _know_ you Bruce. And hey, look, now that we have a clue on what you _need_ we have some place to start right?” Clark said, running a hand through Bruce’s wet hair. “Hey! I have some uncooked steak in the fridge, before we go to bed, we can give that a shot, okay?

“Okay…” Bruce mumbled trying to calm down before looking up into Clark’s eyes.

His chest heaved, more as a futile effort to shrug off the heavy feeling in it than to actually breath as he cupped Clark’s cheeks. Clark’s eyes closed with a shaky breath as he placed his own hands over Bruce’s, holding them there. Bruce ran his thumbs under Clark’s eyes, heart feeling heavy as he stared at the bags under his eyes.

For Clark to be _that_ tired looking… he couldn’t have had one good night of sleep since the day he had died.

“I’m… so sorry Clark.” He uttered before leaning up to press a soft kiss to his husband’s lips.

Clark’s eyes cracked open. “Why?”

“I’m sorry I left you.” Bruce replied, kissing him again hoping that would in some small way make up for all the little shared moments and kisses they had missed.

Clark chuckled sadly. “It’s not _your_ fault I didn’t handle it well Bruce, it's not your fault you died at all. You died doing a good thing.” He kissed Bruce back a few times before continuing. “I’m just… so… so happy you're here… even if it's weird, and hard to believe, all I’ve wanted this past year is to have you at my side again.”

Bruce’s heart melted as Clark’s eyes watered and he himself started crying. “I… I… missed you… God, Bruce I love you so… so much.”

“C-Clark…” Bruce stammered and held him close. “I love you too.” 

He heard Clark say it wasn’t his fault, that he didn’t blame him for dying, but he still loathed himself for it, because it hurt the love of his life by doing it.

——

Bruce was grateful that Clark had suggested the shower, he felt a lot better cleaned up and out of funeral clothing, he now sat in the kitchen, in one of Clark’s shirts that were already loose on Clark himself and was way way looser on Bruce as well as one of Clark’s many pairs of flannel pajama pants that Bruce had a quiet guilty pleasure for because they were just so _Clark_, that he had pulled the strings tight on his waist so it’d stay on.

Clark unwrapped the steak and Bruce sniffed the air curiously, already catching a whiff of it. Clark looked back at him, obviously hearing Bruce’s quiet sniff.

“What do you think?” Clark asked curiously. 

Bruce shrugged, the raw meat suddenly had a slightly different smell, it wasn’t _bad_ exactly but it wasn’t blowing his socks off or anything.

“Weird question but should I cook it or you… want to try it raw?” Clark suggested.

Bruce wrinkled his nose. “Eating it raw still sounds really gross.”

Clark nodded and cut off some of the steak to cook in a pan so it would go a little quicker.

Once it was done, Clark set the plate in front of him, and sat down next to him and quietly held his hand as Bruce lifted the cooked meat to his mouth. Bruce appreciated Clark staying by his side, concerned, but non-judgmental.

“Well?” He asked curiously.

“ I don’t feel sick. It’s… not really getting rid of the thirst but its taking the edge off.” Bruce explained, reporting his findings.

Clark nodded. “That’s still something right? At least meat is an option?” 

“Guess I’ll have to ditch the plan of going Vegan.” Bruce said with a joking roll of his eyes.

Bruce felt a little guilty keeping Clark up even later, but in some ways, they had both silently agreed it was worth the risk of making sure Bruce had the peace of mind that he wouldn’t lose himself to whatever this thirst was while they slept.

Once they finally got into bed Bruce practically had to beg Clark to settle down and actually go to sleep, promising that he’d still be there when Clark woke up, and allowed himself to be affectionate and pepper his boyscout’s face with kisses to reassure him as they settled in.

He quietly buried his nose in the crook of Clark’s neck as they relaxed. For a moment, Bruce realized he smelled _good_, really good. Clark had always had a comforting smell to him, but everything about him now just read as warm and inviting and…

Delicious?

What an odd thought…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clark will be fine, just figured I should say this.  
Also I'm so so sorry it took me so long to update this fic, I want to work on it more, I'm just having trouble getting into a flow on it, but I appreciate all your lovely comments! <3

**Author's Note:**

> In case it wasn't super duper clear from the tags, this is an AU where Bruce is literally the first vampire ever, they haven't existed in pop culture or history either, so he doesn't have too much to go off of.
> 
> Also since I know someone will probably bring it up, Bruce can see himself in the mirror because it isn't backed by any kind of metal that would affect him!  
That's kind of lore stuff I'm not sure how to make clear in writing without confusing people, so thought I would say it here!
> 
> I wanted to start this series in October.,,, but alas .


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